In which Descole's Cold is made even worse
by Eriaana
Summary: Descole has a bad cold, and a bad temper, Layton is homicidal, Flora is depressed and Luke is well...Luke. Strong references to the Malignant Growth, and so lots of swearing. Sadly, no pairings. But hopefully humour.
1. Chapter 1

Sooo… my first fanfiction. Ever. Yay! I was finally inspired (and motivated) after a game a few friends of mine played where we made up stories based on the first line of a book, and the part that my awesome friend Colby wrote after my paragraph nearly made me die of laughter.

Warning: Contains many, many Malignant!Layton and Luke references. It also will most probably veer off onto different topics at an alarming speed. You have been warned, dear reader. And no pairings. None. Zilch. Nada. I am one of those people who love reading pairing fics, but am not blessed with the skills for writing a decent romance fic. My deepest apologies.

Here goes! :D

To say that Descole was unhappy was an understatement. He was very unhappy. So unhappy, that if there was a precise scale of unhappiness he would be after 'very melancholy' and bordering on 'depressed' (He was also rather vexed and annoyed, but those are feelings that Descole tends to feel anyway so they don't actually interest anyone). The cause of his unhappiness was down to five factors, in no particular order:

1) He had just the night before had his butt handed to him on a silver platter by his arch-nemesis Layton.

2) Said man had just rung his doorbell and asked if he could come in to 'have a little chat'.

3) At 6am on a very cold Sunday. In February.

4) Which meant that the professor had managed to find his top-secret hideout with apparently no help or effort.

5) Descole was currently nursing a very bad cold.

All of which were not conductive to the relaxation he had been hoping for. So, very grudgingly, Descole managed to heave himself out of his bed, collapse on the floor swearing as he tried to regain his balance, and shuffled down five flights of stairs to tell the damn professor to 'bugger off'. Politely. The professor wasn't having any of that.

"Now Descole, that isn't very gentlemanly at all."

"For duh larsd time, piss off!"

"No." And with that, the esteemed professor shoved past Descole (which wasn't very gentlemanly) and headed straight for his kitchen, to make himself a nice bracing cup of tea.

-BASEBALL!-

The Professor was halfway through his 12th cup of tea when Descole decided that he had to break the aura of awkward silence that was currently engulfing them. They had just sat opposite each other for five minutes and the intense boredom (not to mention uneasiness-how many cups of tea did the professor drink in a day?) was killing him. However, just as he was about to speak, his butler burst through the door, startling both him and the professor, who gave a manly scream of surprise and accidentally flung his precious cup of tea through one of the vintage (read: extremely expensive) venetian windows. Said teacup went on flying for a good two miles to hit a passer-by walking through the area and it instantly killed him on impact.

"Yes?" sighed Descole. He turned away from the professor who was now crying over the loss of his precious tea and was trying to lick the remnants off the floor. He turned back to the trembling man.

"I-if you'll excuse me master, there's something you really need to know…"

"Good. Now, please dell me… duh suspense is killin-ACHOO!-me…" Descole snapped as sarcastically as it could, which is hard to do when one has a cold, but he pulled it off remarkably well despite his pitiful circumstances.

Meanwhile, the professor had given up trying to salvage his tea and went away to make a new cuppa. And to get the tea and pee stains out of his trousers.

"Well…it seems um, that we have a-an intruder sir…."

"WHAT!?" it was now Descole's turn to do a manly shriek. "But-but HOW? Duh great Descole's manor is imp-ACHOOOO!-impenetrable…or someding! Whatever duh man ob dubious-ACHOOOOO!-quality told me the manor was! How duh fuck did he get in? Lead me to my nuclear chariot! I am going to –ACHHHOOOOO!- goddamn dis cold!"

"But you see sir, he isn't exactly IN the house…in fact, he is directly outside the window, as you can clearly see. It's the boy currently being strangled by our previous guest while shouting out 'BASEBALL' at an alarming rate of decibels."

"Doh." Descole sighed and turned away from the disturbing view of the professor attempting to kill his number-one apprentice whilst shouting a variety of colourful and imaginative death-threats and insults whilst the younger was yelling meaningless words such as 'BASEBALL' and 'TOUCHDOWN' over and over again. To be honest, it was more than a little annoying. He promptly walked to the door to make a hasty exit when his butler called after him;

"Sir? Are you just going to let that poor, innocent little boy die?" Damn his stupid, Scottish butler with his stupid morals. Morals were for the working classes, the sane and the heroic. And Descole wasn't heroic, sane or working class by any stretch of the imagination. And Luke was most certainly not innocent anyway. So the hell did it matter if he kicked the bucket?

So Descole gave a dismissive shrug. "So? Who cares? Led the snotty liddle brat die." And with a grand swiiiiiiiish of his cloak, he walked out of the door, only to trip over a shaking, pink sobbing monstrosity.

"AGHJGVKASHJVJLIHOBHONKNWHATT HEHELLWASTHATSHITIJUSTTRIPPE DOVERRIGHTNOW?!" He looked down in horror at the pathetic figure of a sniffling girl, who was muttering nonsense to herself. He picked her up and flung her out of the hole the professor's tea cup had made, and he could hear a scream and then a splash. Descole lost no sleep that night.

-TOUCHDOWN!-

Meanwhile, outside, amidst the beautiful country scenery and tweeting birds and the butt-ugly castle that was Descole's residence, a brutal, savage and frankly comedic murder of a young minor was trying desperately to take place.

"COME BACK HERE YOU RETARDED CAMEL TOE! YOU SHOTA BOY, LOLITA WOMAN, STUPID WORTHLESS HOLY CRACK WHORE OF BABYLON!" The normally mild-mannered professor was chasing Luke round and round a mulberry bush whilst uttering curses so vile, Mother Theresa would have castrated him just to get him to shut his potty mouth.

"Potty has FIVE LETTERS PROFESSAH!" yelled Luke as he effortlessly leap frogged over Layton in a desperate bid to escape in order to live another day. He then ran up a tree, down it again and jumped over a sheep. The professor ground to shuddering halt. "A sheep! That reminds me of a puzzle MAH BOI!" and so the professor wasted valuable seconds solving his own puzzle before remembering his goal-to kill Luke at all costs. He leapt in a ninja-gentlemanly way before taking off after Luke.

Three long, gruelling hours later, the professor had managed to chase Luke through eight cities, fifty-two fields, a nuclear power-plant, a strip-club ( a few minutes were wasted where the professor tried to navigate his way through a horde of REAL crack whores and pimps), two pylons, the insides of a rather startled cow, the Molentary Express and 'Future London'.

"I thought this place was meant to be destroyed!" cried Layton as he ran through the tatty streets of the underground cavern.

"It was. I rebuilt it." Said another random passer-by. Layton stopped to look at the stupid person who dared interrupt his monologue, when he let out a scream of pure terror.

"OHMYFUCKINGGODWHATINTHENAMEO FBEELZEBUB'SNEWSPOTTYUNDERCRACKERSHAPPE NEDTOYOURFACE? IT'S ALL MUTATED AND VILE AND DISGUSTING!" Indeed it was. The effects of Clive's mobile fortress detonating clearly had a severe impact on this creature's face. The skin had melted into waves, so folds of flesh hung of the skin. Its ears were ridiculously large for its head, and the sheer weight of them meant that the person had to drag its head along the floor. The eyes were different sizes and bloodshot. Pus ran down in two lines from its nose and the teeth were cracked and discoloured. Stringy hair was styled in a semblance of a ponytail, but it seemed to have a life of its own. Layton swore that he could see eyes peering out through the hair.

"How rude! My face has NOT mutated AT ALL! I am the EPITOME of beauty at home, I'll have you know!" Screeched the abomination in indignation. It paused to cough up a hairball.

"Where in the name of Don Paulo's flying umbrella do you live? Hell? The 43rd Dimension? King's Sutton? What could cause such a terrible abomination?"

"I live here. And I am no abomination. My name is Alisha. If you want information, address me as such, so I won't be forced to reach down your insides and pull out your small intestine. In fact, I may just do that anyway." It reached for the professor, but before it could grab his thin neck, he had taken out a mobile phone and pressed a few keys. In a few seconds, a vast array of brightly coloured blocks in a variety of different shapes plummeted down out of nowhere and crushed 'Alisha'.

"TETRIS FOR DA WIN! PUZZLE POWER STRIKES AGAIN! PUZZZLLEEEEE POWEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" And with that, the professor charged on ahead, seemingly undaunted by the fact that Tetris blocks are unyielding and as solid as concrete. The sound of bones crunching could be heard for miles around, including Luke, who wisely noted, "Tetris blocks are HAAAAAAAAARD PROFESSAH!"

And that is how the professor came to arrive, broken, mangled and not a little pissed, at Descole's castle/manor. Again.

-LAWKESHAJACKSON!-

Well. First chapter up. Please review, as I may otherwise suffer from insecurity and then die in the middle of Tesco's. Then this wouldn't be finished. Which may actually be a blessing. Who knows?

But I must apologise to my good friend Alisha, even though it doesn't actually go on Fanfiction. Despite the long-time running joke of it being Gollum, a hideous abomination and Shaggy consecutively, I feel that it deserves a bit of an apology :D (Old habits are hard to break and in my defence, I am known as Satan, Sauron and Fred, which may make me better off (-_-") )

But thank you anyways. I will update very soon as I believe in laughter before massive piles of homework. Or do I? Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahah ahaha :D


	2. Chapter 2

Aaah, Chapter 2 is finally up! I must apologise… contrary to popular opinion, it turns out that homework and school are very important if one is to pass their GCSE's in order to live a fulfilling and interesting life. But I have now managed to spare a few minutes in order to bring you the second chapter. And thank you to all of you who took the time and effort to review, it means a lot to little ol' me! :'D

**Warning: This will contain a certain idiot's demise, random mood-swings, swearing, Malignant!Layton references and Flora's cooking. **

**I don't own Professor Layton, and if I did, you would know about it. **

…..On with the show!

"Remind me as to when you are-ACHOO!- leaving again…" Descole said. He was wrapped up in about 1500 layers of blankets, dressing gowns and dead animals that he had killed the week before. He was currently addressing what seemed to be a broken, mangled mess on the floor that was writhing around in a pool of its own blood and bodily fluids.

"For the last time, I'm not leaving until I slowly and painfully kill Luke!" cried the Professor, gnashing his few remaining teeth. (His 60mph crash into the Tetris blocks had taken a severe toll on his frail mortal body. One of his arms was twisted cracked and hopelessly broken. The other arm was in a sort of spiral. His head was at a 180 degree angle to the rest of his body and both of his legs were rotting from gangrene. He was missing a huge chunk of his ribs and the less said about his missing left foot the better. And yet somehow he had managed to retain his top hat, which was balanced on top of his head without a single scratch to it) Descole groaned, sneezed, hacked up some phlegm into a monogrammed handkerchief and wheezed before replying in his trademark sarcastic way; "And tell me… how in Santa's name are you –ACHOO!-going to achieve that? You, my irritating nemesis, are a wreck. And I mean that in the kindest sense. You can barely drag your pathetic carcass around-ACHOOO!-let alone violently kill a healthy young lad who has all the agility of an overexcited leopard-wolf-flying fish thing."

"I'll think of something you moronic cowpat!" screamed the Professor in a totally gentlemanly way. He was in such a state of agitation one of his legs dropped off from the trembling. The Professor ignored this and continued ranting at his masked host, "When I recover-WHICH I WILL! I AM THE GREAT PROFESSOR LAYTON WHO CAN DRINK EIGHTY-TWO CUPS OF TEA IN TEN MINUTES!-I will crush Luke! I will! I will stab him so hard his head will fall off and his torso will turn into an accordion which I will then use to play a 24hr long recital of all of Justin Beiber's hits on before grinding it up in a spaghetti maker! Then-"

Descole was getting bored of this. He promptly called for his moustachioed butler to come and drag Layton away to some far-fetched corner of his mansion/castle thingy. (I have no idea. And neither do you, so don't look at me like that.) His butler quickly came to deal with the offending professor, armed with a dust-pan and brush and twenty tonnes of Dettol-one could never be too sure, and besides, who's to say that Descole wouldn't catch something from the Professor? His disturbing lack of irises/retinas for example?-and the Professor **still **hadn't finished his ranting, " –and once I've disposed of all the flesh-eating pigeons, I will come for YOU. Yes YOU, you arrogant, prissy, cowardly, hag-ridden piece of piss. YOU!"

"Hey!" exclaimed a rather hurt and shocked Descole, "don't insult Raymond like that. You could hurt his feelings- and I don't want to have to play therapist again. ACHOOO! Not after the discussion about his daddy-issues…" Descole shuddered at the memory. But his recollections were interrupted by his butler's startled yell and four-foot jump into the air(as per usual).

"What is it now?" sighed Descole. Really, what with all the squealing butlers, visually-disturbing professors, random passers-by and terrifying cold-callers, one was almost afraid to ask. But this is Descole we're talking about, and very little intimidated him due to a lifetime of irritating professors, criminal activity and traumatic childhood abuse that would scar him for the rest of his life. So he was all good. Until his butler spoke again.

"You s-see sir… it's just that it's that child again sir. You know, the one that has an obsession with baseball. You see him sir? It's hard not to, he's the one outside the door licking a window."

Descole was about to make a typical witty retort when the Professor noticed Luke, screamed "EGADS! IT'S THE SHOTA BOY!" and leapt up before crawling up the fifteen flights of stairs at approximately 2.5 miles a second with a grace unseen before in severely crippled people. Descole stared after him in amazement, before composing himself. He turned towards his faithful (if cowardly butler).

"I'm off to practice some meditation that will hopefully get me over this. I do not wish to ever remember these past two weeks. EVER. You get me, bro?"

"Yes, master. I totally get you. Innit, blud."

"Glad to –ACHOOOO!-hear it. Now do something about the professor and his annoying monkey." And with that, Descole walked away, not at all prancing. NOT AT ALL. His butler bowed and hurried upstairs to deal with the professor but was hindered after slipping on a misplaced brain chunk and falling down several flights of stairs and landing in a very painful way that I will not specify because some of you dear readers may be squeamish. Or something. Not because I'm lazy or anything. Heh…*nervous laugh*.

-TOUCHDOWN!-

Meanwhile, Luke was skipping about the mansion/castle/hideout talking animatedly to a passing butterfly about baseball and all its joys and delights. Needless to say, the conversation only lasted 15 seconds and Luke went off on his merry way. But he found that his merry way was blockaded by a certain mentally-unhinged archaeologist. Yes, that's right. Indiana Jones. But Luke had no interest in famous people, so he turned around and headed back towards Descole's weird-ass castle-thing. After all, he reasoned, how bad could it be? The professah was probably in fine health and would want to talk about baseball with him like the good old days. It had been two weeks after all. Sufficient enough time for him to recover.

But Luke wasn't reasonable, rational or sane by anyone's standards. Not even the good professor's or even Descole's. Which might explain as to why Luke's day ended like it did. He was casually skipping towards the mansion, yelling "TOUCHDOWN!" when out of the clear grey and cloudy skies of merry old England, a demented and very gentlemanly-sounding voice screamed, "LUKE! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Which is precisely what the Professor did.

-LUKE, I'LL KILL YOU!-

Descole was in the middle of reciting Dalai Lama's emotional balancing chant (to cleanse the mind and soul, and to let go of all cruel and harmful feelings towards others) when his butler burst into his room. Again. Descole was surprised.

"You recovered remarkably quickly. Well done. Take a pay rise of minus fifty percent."

"Thank you master. You are truly kind. Luckily my fatal fall was broken by some hideous abomination that seemed intent on destroying the professor. Aisha or something like that? Ah well. The point is that it broke my fall. But it seemed to be in pretty bad shape after the ordeal, so I chucked it into our industrial-sized incinerator."

"Oh. Did you die?"

"I'm afraid so master. But luckily I survived. But that's not the reason as to why I'm here. I'm here to inform you about another unfortunate incident. One that involves the professor and his apprentice."

"Ah yes, about the professor." Descole closed his eyes, relaxed and finished off his chant. "Ohm… peace be inside me, happiness around me, and forgiveness in my heart. Now, lead me to that pathetic waste of space so I may feed him his remaining organs."

"Yes master. Right away master. But before that, I must tell you that the professor somehow managed to bypass the one-hundred trillion puzzles you set as a security code and hijacked your prototype all-purpose, well-armed, nuclear powered battle ship and fired all of the hydrogen bombs at his apprentice. There were no survivors. Except for us, the professor and a random squirrel. As you may have noticed sir, the hydrogen bombs decimated around 98.456487% of the surrounding countryside, including this residence sir. Note the lack of walls, doors, ceilings etcetera. I hope you are not too angry, master."

Descole crushed a mini-figurine of Buddha in his hands. Many veins were pulsing under his skin and his face was turning an alarming shade of scarlet.

"No Raymond. Not at all."

"I'm happy to hear it, master."

-INVITATION-

_You are cordially invited to the funeral of Luke 'Lawkesha Jackson'_ _Triton._

_It will be held on the 16__th__ of December, as his father has several pressing tanning engagements the week before. _

_It will be held at St. Theresa's Mental Institute for the stupidly and annoyingly Insane as Luke was banned from all churches in the neighbouring countries after the 'Baseball Incident of '12._

_Black clothes are acceptable, but not necessary._

_Party at my place afterwards._

_Hope to see you there~!_

-FIRE IS HOT PROFESSAH!-

Well. Second chapter up and running. Please let me know what you think, and who knows? Maybe you'll get a special mention in my next chapter? Unlikely, but you'll probably be there somewhere :D.

Luke's Funeral is up next! Tune in next time at some unspecified date/time!

Special thanks to:

Alisha, for not objecting to the many references to her/him/it throughout this story

James, who wholeheartedly endorsed the many references to Alisha

Toby, who didn't care either way but still read it

Hanna, who laughed at my work and told me that it was 'a good start' but that she was going to write a better Hetalia fanfiction (I have no doubts about that, and good luck to you)

_The Mocking J, Abitat Eco, Regular Gemstone, GeorgiexxxSuarez, Cupcake-Ninja-Platypus and Guest _for taking the time to review. And what encouraging reviews they were! :D So thanks you guys~

And finally, to Mr McGraham, aka Colby, who was the one who inspired me to write this sorry excuse for a fanfiction in the first place. So a lot of Satan-hugs for you when I see you tomorrow, my little froggy pal.

Phew. Long Author's Note is long. See you soon! 


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